I am not oblivious to you: a medium-framed, dark, maniacal figure hiding in my peripheral vision. Your eyes stare straight through me like tiny needle-like projections, probing my existence. A peculiar feeling, but I keep on walking. Besides, I never lose my cool... At least I pretend not to.
I shift my attention to the sound of my boots click, click, clacking on the jaded cobblestone pathway, the one that possibly leads to my fate. The sound ricochets off the buildings that line this little street, and loom overhead like ominous gods. I ignore the fact that my setting is less than picturesque. "Focus on the sound, and on getting home", I say repeatedly to myself. My pace quickens.
This rhythmic song and dance I've created is both calming and aggravating at the same time. It takes my mind off of you stalking me in the shadows, but it covers up your sound. That gives you a major advantage. I want to be aware of you. I want to be prepared... well more prepared than I already am. I think this is a self-defense mechanism that my mind designed to help me through such an eery situation. A lone woman walking down a dark and narrow alley, with some creep slinking after her. It's the epitome of a doomed situation and stupidity. When the Living becomes the Dead. When Predator meets prey.
I think I should stop psyching myself out, but my mind continues to race. My heart rate increases, and I feel my face and neck get flushed and clammy. I am exasperated, but the adrenaline just keeps me right on going. I wish I could call out to anyone, or even duck into some coffee shop or convenience store, but there seems to be nothing around that is still open at this hour. Just great. I wonder how I always seem to get myself into these situations. I don't even think Houdini could get himself outta this one. But I guess, like him, I was just too goddamn stubborn. Too proud. Too independent. Too trusting. "No, no I'll be okay. I promise, I just have to walk a little bit to make it to the Taxi stop.... right down the street," I had said earlier to my friends as we were ending our little soirée. Boy, do I ever regret that because, Ira. you need to leave me alone.
I wonder when you had realized that I would be walking alone... if you had been watching me all along. Sick bastards like you always seem to get away with that sort of shit. All of a sudden thinking of you and the fact that I would probably end up maimed and dismembered left me furious. I can't believe this is what everything boiled down to! The possibility of some hobo finding me in a nearby dumpster mortified and frustrated me. My life didn't flash right before my eyes, but images of you taking it away from me did. I pictured you having me in the worst of ways, being unable to struggle free, to survive. Suddenly, I didn't feel so hot. I didn't feel so prepared. Just helpless and afraid. Weak, even. Why can't you just leave me alone!
Teresa.
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